100 Ways to Smell of Peaches
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: A collection of drabbles from the writer's 100 challenge. Lassiet pairings
1. Strangers

**TITLE:** _Strangers_

**PAIRING:** _Lassiet_

**CHARACTERS:** _Carlton Lassiter, Juliet O'Hara, Chief Vick_

**GENRE:** _Romance, Angst_

**RATING:** _M_

**CHALLENGES:** _025. "Strangers" _

**WORD COUNT:** _not a lot_

**WARNINGS:** _some sex_

**SPOILERS:** _ none_

**DISCLAIMER:** _none_

* * *

She was quickly dressing and he was still wrapped up to the waist in the pale, thread worn teal bed sheet, propping himself up on his elbows. He watched her for a moment, his breathing still laboured, though now it was partially from panic. He really had no clue what to say now, so he looked away and busied himself with a few files he had knocked off the nightstand in his earlier haste. Now he felt clumsy and awkward, like some fumbling teenager who had just had his first time.

Oh, god—did she think he was like some fumbling teenager who had just had his first time?!

He glanced back up at her—she was zipping up the back of her skirt—and he has no idea what to do. Along her scalpline were still small jewels of sweat and his heart raced slightly. He was the reason she looked flushed.

Her hair had come unpinned at some point, the loose curls making kisses down her shoulders and neck, spilling down her back. His hands had covered her skin and her hair had covered his hands. She'd felt so good in his arms and they way they'd worked together had been a testament to their partner intuition…

But now she was slipping on her pumps and leaving his bedroom without even saying the obvious—he knew she thought that it was a mistake—and he sighed.

* * *

Juliet tried to dress as quickly as she could, trying not to look at him as he stared at her. It was embarrassing enough to know that she'd broken one of her own personal rules, but that she'd now put her partnership in jeopardy. She glanced back at him as he leaned off the bed to pick some files off the floor; he looked so boyish and awkward and she knew what he was thinking.

'_It was a mistake.'_

His lower lip was a little pink and swollen, a single crease of dark red where the skin had split. She must have done it. She had always been a bit of a biter. But she quickly looked away from him, finishing the last of the buttons on her shirt. It appeared earlier in the afternoon he'd turned torn off one of the small pearly white buttons and while that had been devastatingly sexy at the time, it was now an inconvenience.

She left his apartment without a word.

* * *

He forced open the door to the new office he and O'Hara shared, feeling so nervous that his stomach was churning. It was the morning after yesterday afternoon, which simultaneously felt like it had happened both in a dream and only minutes ago. In his hands he clutched a bouquet of flowers he'd picked up at the farmers market after he'd had breakfast. The decision between light blue and light pink had cost him forty-five minutes because it ate up the leeway that usually helped him avoid the early morning rush.

He wasn't there to give some soppy declaration of love, romantic poetic trash, but an apology to let her know he knew it was his fault for involving her in yesterday's illicit, unprofessional affair.

He took a deep breath, holding the flowers stiffly. "I thought…I thought…perhaps."

O'Hara's eyes darted between him and the flowers, him and the flowers, him and the flowers—

'_Oh. She doesn't like them.'_

He didn't give her a chance to talk, simply blurted out,

"Never mind!"

and hurled the bouquet at the trashcan before he stormed out. He hated emotions, he hated attractive partners that understood him, he hated blue flowers that meant _'I'm sorry'_—

* * *

She and Carlton had gained their own office, mainly so they could lock Shawn and Gus out when they needed to avoid irritating shenanigans. While it had originally been the minute sanctum devoted entirely to their intellect, she could now see it was going to be hell to work alone with him behind closed doors. No doubt the small room would be filled with awkward tension…

He had arrived late and she glanced up when he opened the door—she could always tell it was him because of the way his footfall sounded on the tile outside the office… He was holding a bouquet of soft blue flowers, the hand wrapped kind that could usually be found at the farmer's market.

Before she realised it, he was storming out of their office. Had he said something? Juliet stared at the empty doorway, somewhat stunned before kneeling slightly to retrieve the bouquet out of the bin, smiling fondly at the broken and damage flowers.

"Okay, so he doesn't think I'm a whore," she declared aloud when she finally found her voice.

"Who doesn't think you're a whore?"

She looked up to see Chief Vick standing there, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

"No one," she lied quickly.

Vick seemed satisfied with the answer. "Was Carlton here? I thought I just saw him."

"I think he had to go take care of something."

* * *

They were sitting alone in his newly fixed cruiser on stake out and for the first time in all their work together, they were absolutely silent. Normally they would talk about something, anything, but right now, both were playing an uncomfortable waiting game. She knew whomever talked first would be conceding and there was no way that would be her partner.

"Those flowers you got me—" she started.

"It meant nothing."

She was patient with him, knowing his outbursts were coming from a place of fear. "I didn't have a vase, so, I…I took an early lunch break and took them home." When he didn't say anything more, she felt it safe to continue. "I had the prettiest blue vase and I put them in my bedroom. On my nightstand."

"You bedroom," he echoed.

"The sunlight from my window really makes the gerbera daisies stand out. Maybe you'd…like to see them? I had some floral wire and I fixed the broken stalks."

A hint of guilt crossed his face. "The flowers were damaged?"

"I got a little excited," she lied and he smirked.

She was shy in her approach as she made her repeated suggestion. "If you want, we could go see them now."

"We're on a stakeout, O'Hara," he said coolly, the man married to his work.

She smiled sheepishly. "I had Shawn make something up."

"You what?"

"Well, I wanted to get you alone so I could talk to you. I was worried that you didn't like me," she confessed, feeling like a conniving high school girl who ha a crush.

He looked at her over the top of his shades. "Didn't like you? What are you talking about?"

At this she found herself somewhat embarrassed. "When we finished…doing it—"

His nose wrinkled. "Doing it? What are you, a fourteen year old?"

"Okay, making love."

He flinched at the words and she let out a nervous giggle before continuing. "When we were done, you didn't, I thought…"

She couldn't make the words come out of her mouth and he gave an exasperated sigh. "Come on, O'Hara. I haven't got all day."

"Why wouldn't you cuddle with me?!" she blurted out. "Or, you know, just try to hold me close."

"I had no idea you'd…" he paused thoughtfully. "It's not something I do. I don't mind sleeping close, but honestly! What a waste of time, lying around doing nothing." He faltered when he saw her face fall. "Uh, though I suppose if you were staying over for the night, it couldn't hurt."

"And I suppose it couldn't hurt if I didn't need more than a couple of minutes," she suggested.

They were quiet again, looking at each other before he gave her something that looked like a sad smile. "I would have, had I known. I like being close to you."

"I like being close to you, too." Juliet looked back out the window, forgetting for a moment that they weren't really on a stakeout, but her hand found his and she held it tightly. "You don't have to be a stranger, Carlton. I'm your partner."


	2. Children

**FOR: **_Jenncho, as a 'Help Haiti' Charity Fic! Please visit my profile for more information!_

**Summary: **_After the finish to a dramatic morning, O'Hara wants IHOP_

**Pairing: **_Lassiet_

**Characters: **_Carlton Lassiter, Juliet O'Hara_

**POV: **_Carlton Lassiter_

**Genres: **_Romance_

**Spoilers: **_None_

**Warnings:** _None_

**Challenges:** _028. "Children"_

**Part of a Series?:** _"One Hundred Ways to Smell of Peach"_

**Word count:** 470

* * *

"I've always wanted kids," Carlton comments as they sit together on stakeout.

It's been four years as partners and one year as _partners_.

"Me, too," Juliet admits, fighting back a yawn as she peers through binoculars at the window she's supposed to be watching. "A boy and a girl."

She can hear him shift slightly in the driver's seat. "Two boys. I would take them fishing."

"And to the gun range," she says with amusement.

"They'd be named…" he pauses for a moment. "Well, one of them ought to be Carlton Jr."

She glances over at him. "Naturally."

"Hmmm. Maybe Henry…" he ponders.

Juliet makes a notation in her stakeout logbook. "I would name my son Leonard, after Lennie Briscoe."

He takes a sip of coffee that's long been cold. "Carlton Jr and Leonard. Respectable names."

"And if you ended up with a daughter?" she asks.

"What would you name yours?"

She thinks for a moment. "Charlotte."

"That's a good name. Rebecca," he offers.

Juliet thinks about being hit in the face with a softball during PE. "Nah, I knew a girl in middle school named Rebecca. She was pretty mean."

"Okay, so no 'Rebecca' then. How about Danielle?" he suggests.

"Danielle Lassiter. Not bad," she sounds out.

"Juliet Lassiter isn't bad either," he says quickly.

She starts to write down that the suspect had turned the lights off at exactly 1:19am when she realises exactly what he's said. "Oh. What?"

"I was thinking about you and me." She turns him and she can see he has a slight smile on his lips. "I didn't mean to ask the question like this—it just slipped out, I promise. I was saving it for dinner on Saturday." She watches him sigh heavily and he gives an apologetic shrug. "The ring is in my locker."

"Is it pretty?" she asks,

He grimaces. "I don't know!"

She raises an eyebrow and gives him a Look and he sighs once more. "It's antique. I wanted to get you a diamond, but I know that you don't believe in buying them because of the wars down in Africa…I figured it was loophole."

"I think it is. It's like recycling," she says breathlessly, her mind running wild with what it might look like. "How do you it's the right size?"

Now it's his turn to give her a Look. "O'Hara, I'm a detective."

"You and me?" she squeaks.

"We make good partners," he says in a very sure tone. "We'd make a good husband and wife, and good parents."

Juliet lifts the binoculars to her eyes once more, looking at their suspect's window. "When I tell my parents that you proposed to me, I'm not going to tell them that it was while I was sitting on stakeout with a full bladder at one in the morning."


	3. Breakfast

**FOR: **_Jenncho, as a 'Help Haiti' Charity Fic! Please visit my profile for more information!_

**Summary: **_After the finish to a dramatic morning, O'Hara wants IHOP_

**Pairing: **_Lassiet_

**Characters: **_Carlton Lassiter, Juliet O'Hara_

**POV: **_Carlton Lassiter_

**Genres: **_Romance_

**Spoilers: **_None_

**Warnings:** _None_

**Challenges:** _056. "Breakfast"_

**Part of a Series?:** _"One Hundred Ways to Smell of Peach"_

**Word count:** _1124_

* * *

"Ow."

O'Hara sits down heavily across from him at the booth. Her hair is a little matted, just starting to look oily at the roots and her usually flawless makeup is smudged with mascara runs. She has smudges of dirt and a slight dribble of dried blood out of her left nostril. Her watch face is cracked and there's a nasty tear in the shoulder of her blazer.

Frankly he doesn't look any better.

They'd just emerged from a Mexican standoff after three days being held hostage in a dingy warehouse. Vicks, the rest of the SBPD, and of course Spencer and Guster had come to rescue them and right now are cleaning up the situation while he and O'Hara got the hell out of there. The second they'd got into a patrol cruiser (their car is sitting at the bottom of a reservoir) O'Hara had growled out,

"_I want breakfast."_

It was coke and fake Louis Vouttoin handbags that started the whole mess, breaking up a crime ring of fraud and drugs that got them into so much trouble. They probably ought be at the station making their report but Carlton could give a crap. They're hungry, tired, and his knees feel weird from the way he'd been sitting for almost three days straight.

The waitress sees his badge and seems to take this as a sign not to ask them to leave on account of their scruffy appearance, instead pulling out her ticket book and a pen.

O'Hara looks at the woman tiredly. "Pancakes. Blueberry syrup. As much bacon as it will take to fill a plate. And fresh fruit. And orange juice."

The waitress nods and looks at him.

"What's the greasiest thing you have on the menu?" he asks.

"Uh, we don't have anything grea—" Carlton gives her a stern look and she sighs. "The Prairie Dog Pancakes."

"I want those." He rubs his temples and the empty mug to his right. "And a whole pot of coffee."

The waitress frowns. "I don't know—"

"Lady, this is our first meal in three days! Just bring us our food!" O'Hara snaps and proceeds to lay her head down on the table as the waitress walks away. There is silence between them (he's staring at the hair tie still holding her golden locks back in a ponytail) and she finally speaks into the tabletop. "I'm glad you had my back, Carlton."

He slouches in his seat slightly. "Someone has to."

"I'm sorry I got us caught," she adds and he nods.

"Anyone could have made that mistake."

At this she looks up. "Really?"

"You didn't get us killed," he points out.

"Very true."

Three days of sitting handcuffed together that ten percent of the time was spent listening to their ransom being negotiated and the other ninety by themselves. In retrospect, it had been a great way to do some bonding as partners—he was secretly hoping that he could convince Vick into letting this whole ordeal count towards those stupid seminars he has to attend every year about 'being a good partner'.

They'd talked about little things, such as her love of oranges and why she liked her coffee the way she did. They talked about how he picked neckties and why he thought laundry bluing was possibly the best thing ever. She'd driven him crazy from singing Lady Gaga over and over, getting it stuck in his head.

And when she'd been scared, they'd been put in the perfect positions to hold hands without having to see one another's face.

"We were pretty awesome," she admits a large smile gracing her face.

He can see the jefe with a gun to her temple, her wide eyes not blinking but her mouth silently saying 'aim for his heart'. He has no idea what she's thinking because he certainly isn't going to shoot through his partner--she stomps down on his toes and in the brief second the jefe is shouting out, O'Hara has ducked down and Carlton takes the shot.

He smiles back. "We really were."

They're both a mess and suddenly he realises he smells halfway between an autoshop and a dumpster. Thankfully there is enough distance created by the table that he can't smell her.

He means to say: "We could both use showers."

What he actually says: "You and I should shower."

"Oh my gosh!" she gasps, leaning over her plate. "I was just thinking the same thing! I don't know about your place, but my shower has this showerhead that's supposed to be like when rain falls. It's pretty cool."

He wants to tell her that isn't what he meant at ALL, but he finds himself stumbling over words. Damnit—he's not fifteen. However it seems she's taken his pause as something more.

Her fork traces patterns in her syrup. "Oh, well, I mean, if you'd rather we go to your apartment—"

"Yours is fine," he blurts out.

"M'kay. But just a shower though. I really want to get some rest," she says, her hand reaching out to touch his momentarily. "I'm so glad I just put fresh sheets on the bed. Not that I was expecting company, but it'll be nice to get into a fresh, clean bed, right?"

He doesn't answer as the waitress has returned with their food. As he begins cutting his Prairie Dog Pancakes which is a stack of pancakes with sausage mixed into the batter with an egg over easy in the center, O'Hara begins to wrap the bacon and fruit into her pancakes, pouring out the entirety of the blueberry syrup to dip her breakfast in. Together they are silent as they scarf down their food.

Oh the safety of an IHOP diner. No guns, no drama, no Spencer and Guster. Just two detectives who've lived to fight another day and eat pancakes.

He wipes the smudge of blueberry syrup off her cheek and for the slightest second he can see her lean into his touch, her eyes drifting to look down at his wrist…

He knows that whatever happens after they leave here they'll be able to blame on their lack of respectable sleep, on the calming effects of a hot shower, of almost dying. He just wants to kiss her, to tell her that he still thinks it was irritating that she sang 'Poker Face' over and over, that she'd made a convincing argument for trying coffee the way she like it, that he'd only just now realised how happy he was that she'd trusted him enough to take the shot that saved them.

But he right now he's just fine linking his fingers with hers across the table as they scarf down their breakfasts.


End file.
